


No One's Gonna Save Us

by intocooperstown



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hiatus, M/M, Pining, References to Suicide, Sharing a Bed, Some wholesome dad content towards the end, lots of mental health issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:28:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22963171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intocooperstown/pseuds/intocooperstown
Summary: "We need a break.""You're kidding.""For how long?""I don't know yet.""Pete? Are you on board with this?""Yes."Peterick hiatus fic. Inspired by the album Some Nights by Fun. Title from "Stars."
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 26
Kudos: 44





	1. Some Nights (Intro)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! 
> 
> This is my first fic here on AO3, but it is certainly not my first fic ever, or my first Fall Out Boy fic. I'm really excited to become a part of the author community here. 
> 
> All I really have to say is this:  
> 1\. Some Nights by Fun. is fantastic album, and I tried to replicate the general vibe of every song in each chapter.   
> 2\. There are going to be a lot of mental health issues, including but not limited to anxiety and depression.
> 
> I'll be updating every Sunday. Enjoy!

Everything is wrong.

Pete knows it, Patrick knows it, the whole band knows it, and he thinks the fans are starting to catch on too. His mom's been calling him every day, asking politely how things are going, if he's been taking care of himself, and he tries not to scream. It's even worse when Ashlee does it. He doesn't know what to tell them; he's spiraling, and Patrick, the one person who could stabilize him when no one else could, is on the same path.

And it's ruining them.

Pete's been writing like a maniac, but Patrick's been too reluctant to do anything with his words, too heartbroken over the backlash that _Folie à Deux_ has received. A part of Pete wants to shake him, to yell "This is what I've been dealing with since the beginning!" but he knows how Patrick feels about his work and he knows it wouldn't make anything any better. The hate is too pointed, and Patrick doesn't have the same thick skin that Pete's developed over the years.

He doesn't know what would make this shit storm better, and it's tearing him up inside more than anything else.

He just wants to make it through tour. Once tour is over they can take a step back, all of them, and breathe for a few months. After that everything will be fine. He knows it.

Until then, he's trying to keep Patrick close. Andy and Joe are tired, plain and simple, but they can handle themselves, and he knows Patrick's hanging on by a thread, just like him.

It's not working very well. Patrick snaps at him for being overbearing and brings up the fact that his medicine bottles are too full. From there it blows up into an ugly fight where they blame each other for everything and nothing all at once. The only time when Pete feels like he's got Patrick is when they're on stage, slipping into their usual rhythm. The only time Pete feels like they're okay is when he's pressed against Patrick's side, remorsefully singing along to "Headfirst Slide" and trying to memorize the feeling of Patrick's shoulder under his forehead.

Sometimes after shows Patrick will come up to him backstage and put a hand on his shoulder. He never says anything, just squeezes once, gently, and lets go, heading towards the dressing room. Pete doesn't know whether or not to follow him, so he stays put, forcing himself to drink water.

Patrick always looks like he's been crying when he comes out.

Things get harder by the day, and Pete doesn't know what to do. They're overtired and getting crazier by the minute. He's terrified.

He just hopes they make it out in one piece.


	2. Some Nights

"You know what Pete? You're a fucking psycho!"

Pete doesn't even remember how this got so out of hand. He'd finally worked up the courage to ask Patrick about his weight loss, and now they're screaming at each other on their tour bus. All he'd wanted was to make sure Patrick was eating enough. He certainly didn't make any moves towards eating breakfast.

"I'm a psycho? Really?" Pete laughs. Patrick's face only gets redder. "You're the one who's such a god damn control freak that you're losing your mind over a few bad reviews! Get over yourself, Patrick! You're not the first person to get called something mean on the fucking internet!"

"It's not just the hate mail, you moron!" Patrick yells. "It's you too, you know!"

Pete freezes. "What?"

Patrick straightens up. "You heard me right. I can't work with you anymore."

"What the fuck do you mean you can't work with me anymore?"

"I mean you're constantly hanging off me like a love sick puppy, and it's ridiculous! And I'm a grown man, Pete, you don't have to check up on me all the fucking time."

Pete scoffs. "You're mad at me because I care about you?"

"I'm mad at you because you're treating me like a child!" Patrick stamps his foot, and Pete wants to laugh. He doesn't. "You're acting like I need to be supervised all the time, like all my problems are little and solvable, but guess what asshole, I've got problems just like you do, I just don't let them eat me alive for the fun of it."

Pete takes a step back, jaw dropping. "Excuse me? You think I like being like this? You think when I refused to get on airplanes that I was doing it for show? That I took a hand full of pills as a science experiment or some shit?"

At that, Patrick stops. "No. No, that's not what I meant."

"Then what the fuck do you mean?" Pete yells. He takes a deep breath. "What the fuck are we doing, Patrick? We're hardly friends anymore, and we certainly aren't working together," he says, quieter.

Patrick sighs. "I don't know, Pete."

All the anger seems to drain from the room. Pete replays the whole exchange in his mind. None of it makes any sense, and none of it gives him a sign towards fixing anything.

Finally, Patrick whispers, "I think we need a break."

"You and me both," Pete says.

"No." Patrick shakes his head. "I don't mean whatever we have planned at the end of tour. I mean an actual break."

Pete blinks. He puts a hand on the counter of the bus's kitchenette to steady himself. "Like, from the band?"

Patrick nods, looking smaller than Pete's ever seen him. "Yeah. From the band, from each other..." he trails off.

"Seriously?" Pete asks.

"Yes." Patrick clears his throat. "We can't keep doing this."

Pete doesn't know what to say at first. He thinks, and...Patrick might be right. They've been burning the candle at both ends for too long, and now that they're taking it out on each other, something has to give. His chest constricts at the thought, but maybe some distance is for the best.

They're certainly not getting any closer.

"Do you really think it'll solve this?" Pete asks.

Patrick swallows, looking lost. "I don't know."

Pete wants to touch him. He wants to reach out and pull Patrick into a bone-crushing hug and not let go until they have to go to soundcheck. He wants to tell Patrick how sorry he is, about their fight, about all of it, but the words die on his tongue. He wants to tell Patrick how much he means to him and make him breakfast and make sure he eats it. He wants to make sure they both get a good night's sleep.

"Okay," Pete says softly. "I guess we need to have a band meeting then."

"After the show tonight?" Patrick suggests.

Pete drags a hand over his face. "Yeah, okay." He pauses. "I'm gonna go get dressed."

He locks the bathroom door as soon as he closes it. He puts his clothes on the counter by the sink, then looks at himself in the mirror.

Pete bursts into tears. He doesn't care if Patrick can hear him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

They're in a hotel for the night. Pete can't decide if it's a blessing or a curse. He's not rooming with Patrick though- he and Joe are going to be sharing instead. Pete just hopes Andy will be willing to say something to Patrick about how quickly he's lost the weight, because he knows that Andy's noticed it too. Maybe Patrick will listen to Andy.

The show went great. Pete doesn't want to ruin the post-concert high for Andy and Joe, but Patrick says they need to get this over with. Pete agrees, wanting to throw up.

"So, what's this meeting about?" Andy asks once he and Patrick have sat down in Pete and Joe's room. They're sitting at the end of one of the beds, and Joe is sitting on the other. Pete stands leaning against the dresser across from them, tapping his fingers anxiously.

Pete looks to Patrick. _This was your idea_ , he thinks. _You tell them._

"We need a break," Patrick says. Pete expects him to have to elaborate, like he did earlier, but Joe and Andy get it immediately. Maybe he was just too close to see it coming.

"You're kidding," Andy says quietly.

Patrick shakes his head.

"For how long?" Joe asks.

"I don't know yet," Patrick says.

Andy looks at Pete. "Pete?" His voice is unbearably soft. "Are you on board with this?"

Pete bites his lip. Draws blood. "Yes."

"Think about it," Patrick begins. "We're all at our wit's end. We're tired, and we've been fighting like crazy, and at last night's concert people booed us for playing our new music. Something has to change."

"But we're almost at the end of tour," Andy says, desperation in his voice. Pete knows how he feels. "This will blow over, we just have to wait it out."

"I don't think we can just wait this out, Andy," Pete whispers.

They go silent.

"I think Patrick's right," Joe says. All eyes turn to him. "We can't go on like this. Someone's going to get seriously hurt, if they haven't already." Joe and Patrick lock eyes, and Pete thinks that this is the first moment of solidarity they've had in months.

"No." Andy shakes his head. "We can fix this. We just need time to figure this out."

"Time that we'll have if we take an official break," Patrick says. "We can't figure out shit if the label is breathing down our necks for a new album."

Andy stares at him, then looks at Joe, then at Pete. "So that's it? We're just giving up?"

Pete shakes his head, looking to the floor. "We're not giving up, Andy. It's just a break. We're not done forever." He glances at Patrick, waiting for him to jump in. He doesn't, and something in Pete breaks a little more.

Andy stands. "Fine. I'm going to bed then. I don't have anything left to say here." With that, he leaves, and no one can think of a way to call him back.

Or a reason why.

Patrick leaves a moment later, quietly telling Pete and Joe good night.

Then it's just the two of them.

They've both got tears in their eyes, but they don't say anything. They get ready for bed and turn off the lights before either of them gather the courage to speak.

"Are you actually for the break?" Joe asks.

Pete sighs, rolling over in his bed until he's facing Joe's. "I don't know. I think Patrick's right, but I don't know if I want to take a break."

"I think we all need it," Joe says. "I don't really want to either. You guys are family to me, but things have been so crazy lately." He huffs. "I don't know what else we can do. There's no way to talk our way out of half our fan base hating us."

Pete bites his lip. "Do you think it's that bad?"

Pete hears the covers on Joe's bed shift. "It's never been this bad, Pete. Maybe you've become numb to it, and I don't blame you for that, but this...this is a whole different level."

Neither of them say anything for a minute. Then, "Can I sleep in your bed?"

Pete doesn't know if he wants to laugh or cry. "Yeah, of course."

Joe gets up and crosses the space between their beds, slipping underneath the covers beside Pete.

"Have you and Andy been sharing?" Pete asks, putting a hand on the mattress between them.

Joe grabs his hand and squeezes. "Yeah, it helps. I haven't been sleeping well, and I don't think Andy has been either."

"That makes all four of us," Pete says softly.

Another beat of silence.

"Have you and Patrick?"

Pete shakes his head. "No, but I know he hasn't been sleeping well. I can feel him overthinking in his bunk."

Joe laughs quietly. "Sounds about right. But you really haven't been sharing a bunk?"

Pete stares at the wall behind Joe. "Things have been too tense between us. I've been too scared to ask."

"You love him," Joe says.

Pete scowls. "Of course I do. That's not even up for debate."

"No, Pete. I mean you _really_ love him. And that's half the problem."

Pete doesn't know what to say to that.

Joe squeezes his hand again. "You didn't know?"

Pete's glad it's dark. "I think some part of me did."

Joe nods, sighing. "It's too bad you didn't realize it sooner. It might've changed things."

Pete closes his eyes. "No, it wouldn't have. We still would've poured our hearts into this album and it still would've been torn to pieces. We'd still be overtired and out of our minds."

"Yeah. Maybe you're right. We need some space, don't we?"

"Yeah."

Joe squeezes his hand once again, and Pete squeezes back.

"Good night, Pete."

"Night, Joe."

Pete barely sleeps a wink.


	3. We Are Young (feat. Janelle Monáe)

Pete regrets shaving his head. He misses being able to pull on his hair when he's frustrated and alone, like he is now.

Ashlee left. She took Bronx with her for the week so Pete could start "getting your shit together and taking your fucking meds." He's frustrated that he didn't see this coming, that he didn't do anything to prevent it, and he's frustrated that he's alone and doesn't have anyone to talk to about it. He hasn't talked to Andy and Joe for more than five minutes in over a week, and he hasn't heard from Patrick in a month. He hasn't seen any of them in person since they released _Believers Never Die._

He knew the hiatus would be lonely; he didn't think he'd wind up on a fucking island. When he's not sleeping or drunk he's crying his eyes out.

Maybe he should've fought it harder. Maybe he should've talked to Patrick, talked him out of it. He didn't want this. He didn't want _this._ He wanted things to get better, but this is just making him lose his mind.

It doesn't help his anxiety, either. The more he thinks like this, the more he wonders how the others are doing. He doesn't know what scares him more: the idea that they're as depressed as he is, or the idea they're thriving without him.

He's too scared to ask them outright.

Pete thinks that what sucks most of all is the empty house.

He's laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the fan click quietly above him. It shouldn't feel lonelier at night, because it's always quiet when he goes to bed regardless of who's home with him, but the darkness only serves to emphasize the lack of a warm body next to him and a loud, precious little boy in the next room.

Pete sighs, rolling onto his side. He curls up a little more beneath his sheets. He's cold, and he'd give just about anything for a comforting embrace.

He grabs the pillow Ashlee would've been sleeping on and hugs it close. It doesn't smell like her; he washed the sheets as soon as she left, not wanting another reminder of her absence. He holds the pillow to his chest and curls around it. He thinks of soft ginger hair and a golden voice singing him to sleep.

(That hasn't happened since long before the hiatus. He tries not to think about that.)

Just when the first tears start to well up and Pete thinks he's going to cry himself to sleep again, his phone buzzes from his nightstand.

He sits up, covers falling to his waist. He leaves the pillow in his lap and grabs his phone. It's one in the morning, and Patrick is calling him.

What the fuck?

Doesn't matter.

Pete answers without hesitation. Starting a conversation feels like a whole new ball game. "Hello?"

_"Pete!"_ Patrick sounds so energetic, Pete can't help but grin. _"Pete, hi! What are you doing?"_

Pete laughs a little. As weird as this feels, it's fantastic hearing Patrick's voice again. "Uh, I was trying to sleep when you called. What about you? You out painting the town red?"

_"Oh yeah, I'm doing just fine,"_ Patrick says. Pete's chest constricts, but then he remembers that Patrick's the one who called him, so it's not like Patrick is trying to tell him to fuck off and stop worrying.

There's a bit of a scuffle on the other end, and Pete can hear Patrick talking to another man. Pete sits and waits, wondering if Patrick just wanted to check in or if he wanted to talk.

_"Hello? Is Pete there?"_ a man Pete doesn't know asks.

Pete blinks. "Yes, I'm Pete. What's going on? Where's Patrick?"

The man sighs. _"He's fine, just very, very drunk."_ Pete's heart sinks. _"I think I cut him off a little too late, so I took his keys and told him to call a friend. There's no way he can drive himself home."_

Pete swallows. "Oh. Okay." His grip on his pillow tightens. "What's the address?"

Pete didn't even know Patrick was still in LA. He assumed Patrick had gone back to Chicago to be with his family. He feels like shit for not knowing when he gets in his car and starts the engine.

He arrives at the bar fifteen minutes later. It doesn't take him long to find Patrick; he's sitting towards the back of the bar, leaning against the counter. His face is flushed and the pout on his lips would be cute if Pete weren't also very concerned. Patrick looks deep in conversation with the bartender, who looks like a thirty year old male model.

Pete walks over. "Are you Brett?" he asks.

The bartender nods. "I tried to get him to drink some water but he wouldn't."

"I'm not that drunk," Patrick says. "Pete, tell him I'm not drunk." It comes out as a whine.

"You're drunk, Patrick." Pete turns to the bartender. "Thank you for having him call me."

He pays Patrick's tab and leaves a heavy tip. The bartender hands him Patrick's keys, and Pete pockets them without a second thought. He thanks the bartender again, then faces Patrick.

"Come on, let's go," he says, feeling more tired than before.

Patrick's frown deepens. "But you just got here!"

"Get up," Pete says. Patrick does, swaying on his feet. He puts an arm around Pete's shoulders to steady himself and leaves it there. Pete doesn't have the heart to push him off.

Patrick doesn't protest when Pete puts him in the passenger seat of his car. Pete doesn't know where Patrick's staying, or living, and he doesn't want to, so he starts his car and begins driving back to his own house.

He can feel Patrick staring at him. "Are you mad at me?" he asks. He sounds like a kid, and Pete knows that if he looks at Patrick he'll be faced with drunken puppy dog eyes.

Pete grips the steering wheel tighter. "I just wish your first phone call in a month hadn't been for a ride."

"Oh." Patrick's usually a giddy mess when he's drunk, and Pete can't decide if he's relieved or sad that he seems more subdued than normal. "I'm sorry," Patrick says.

Pete sighs, coming to a halt at a red light. "It is what it is, Patrick."

He regrets looking at Patrick. Patrick's face is completely blank except for the tears welling up in his eyes, and Pete doesn't know what to do.

"Patrick?"

Patrick sniffles, looking down at his lap. "I miss you."

The light turns green. Pete forced himself to focus on the road.

"I really am sorry." A part of Pete wants to tell Patrick to stop talking. "This isn't what I wanted. I should've called, but I was so scared..."

_Scared of what?_ Pete doesn't ask. "When we get to my place, you're going to bed. We can talk in the morning when you've sobered up."

Pete doesn't have to keep Patrick as close as he does during the walk from his car to the front door, but he does anyway. It's not like he asked Patrick to put his arm around his shoulders again, and if Pete keeps a hand on the small of Patrick's back, who has to know? It's dark and Patrick's warm, even if Pete can feel melancholia coming off him in waves.

Pete gets Patrick a glass of water and makes sure he drinks the whole thing. Then he goes to his room and finds a pair of sweatpants and a shirt that Patrick can borrow.

"Where's Bronx?" Patrick asks, standing in the doorway of Bronx's room. Pete hasn't closed the blinds in there, so every bit of concern on Patrick's face is illuminated by moonlight.

Pete hands Patrick the clothes. "With Ashlee." Patrick's face falls, and Pete pushes him towards the bathroom.

Pete doesn't move. He stares at the bed in the corner of Bronx's room and tries to imagine the shape of him, curled around his favorite stuffed animal under his blanket. The bathroom door opens, and Pete immediately turns to lead Patrick to the guest room.

Patrick lays down and watches as Pete puts two pain killers and another glass of water on the nightstand. Then Pete straightens up and says good night, not sure what else he can do or say. He turns to walk away when Patrick grabs the hem of Pete's shirt.

"Wait. Don't go," he says quietly. Patrick's eyes are wide and tired. "I meant what I said in the car. I'm sorry." His voice wavers toward the end, and Pete knows he won't be able to sleep if he leaves now.

Pete sits down next to Patrick's head. At first they don't touch at all, then Patrick sighs and carefully puts his hand on Pete's knee, curling closer to him.

Pete closes his eyes and weaves his fingers through Patrick's hair. It's just as soft as he remembers. "I'm sorry too."

Patrick's breath catches; Pete hopes he doesn't start crying, because he knows he would do anything to cheer Patrick up again, and this moment is too raw and vulnerable for that. He knows they need to sleep and they need to talk in the morning.

Except when he wakes up the next morning, Patrick is gone.

The pain killers on the nightstand are gone and the glass of water is empty. Pete's clothes are sitting at the foot of the bed, folded neatly. Patrick didn't leave a note, a text message, a voice mail, anything- just a half full pot of coffee that's cold by the time Pete gets to it.

He can't bring himself to try to call.


	4. Carry On

Pete goes to see Andy and Joe perform with their new band The Damned Things and the three of them go out for drinks and pick up right where they left off. Pete feels great, especially when Andy insists on driving him and Joe back to their hotel with a fond tone of voice. Pete crashes on one bed, and he can't help but smile at the sight of Joe and Andy sharing the other.

There's just something reassuring about seeing that half the band has remained so close, even if it makes Pete's heart twinge with a bit of jealousy.

Pete starts a new band, too: Black Cards. It's not punk, and it doesn't fill the hole Fall Out Boy left in him, but the company's nice and it helps him take his mind off things for a couple hours. Bebe Rexha's nice enough, but she's not nearly as talented as other singers he's worked with, and he can't help thinking about that every time they get together to write.

He doesn't hear from Patrick.

Patrick's absence hurts like a motherfucker all through two thousand ten. Pete decides, at half past one in the morning on New Year's, that his twenty eleven resolution is to stop thinking about Patrick. He passes out soon after, and his first thought when he wakes up with a headache to cough up all the vodka in his system is, _Patrick would make this more bearable._

He does okay. He breaks down twice during January and once in early February, but he's a functioning person and he manages. Somehow.

Then _Truant Wave_ drops.

Pete orders a vinyl copy, thinking he owes Patrick the same support he's given Andy and Joe, even if they haven't talked in over a year. He posts a picture online and hopes Patrick sees it. He sits down in his living room with a glass of whiskey and listens.

Pete loves it. He alternates between nodding his head to the beat and crying at the thought of what "Spotlight (Oh Nostalgia)" and "Love, Selfish Love" are supposed to be saying. He listens to the record at least twelve times before he falls asleep on the floor in front of his couch.

His New Year's resolution is obsolete by the end of the week.

Pete follows Patrick's progress closely, proud and heartbroken at the same time. He watches every studio performance, listens to every radio show, and reads all the magazine articles featuring Patrick. He likes the suits his best friend has taken to wearing, even if he's still a little worried about how quickly he lost weight. He's not sure how he feels about the bleached hair, though; it looks as fluffy as ever, but the platinum blond shocks him a bit every time he sees it.

He wants to call and congratulate Patrick, but he looks at how happy and energetic Patrick is on stage with his new band and how passionately he talks about working on his own, he can't do it. Patrick hasn't reached out, hasn't invited him to a show or anything, and Pete knows not to put all the blame on Patrick for not making the first move, but he's too scared to do it himself.

Patrick's moved on, thriving on his own, and it seems Pete can only be a bystander.

Pete preorders _Soul Punk_ on vinyl, CD, and digital. Tickets for Patrick's tour go on sale, and while he can't find the courage to buy tickets just yet, he'd be lying if he said he didn't have the site bookmarked on his computer.

October comes. Pete listens to _Soul Punk_ for a week straight.

"Dance Miserable" feels oddly perfect for the time, and Pete finds himself playing it every time he opens a new bottle of whiskey. "Spotlight (New Regrets)" still makes his heart ache, but it doesn't hurt quite as much now that it's got synthesizers in it. Pete loves how upbeat "Greed" is, even if Patrick's grunting in the bridge is mildly problematic ("When I Made You Cry" is even worse in that department, although it also makes Pete think about their last fight before deciding to take a break, so his sadness cancels out his erection).

The only song that doesn't send Pete into a spiral of depression is "Coast (It's Gonna Get Better)," because it's not Patrick talking about good things are- it's saying life is hard, but you can keep going. You can learn and grow and it's okay to feel however you feel. It makes Pete feel a little better about his current state, both personally and in terms of the band. Plus, Pete likes how the lyrics say "coast _with_ me," because then it's easy to imagine Patrick is talking directly to him.

Pete can't get over "Run Dry (X Heart X Fingers)." It doesn't make him sad or happy, although the second half makes him sigh with relief when he thinks about how torn up Patrick was over the negative reviews _Folie_ received. The lines "I'm not just drunk/I really think I'm in love with you" get stuck in his head, though, and that's where things get tricky. He thinks about the night he drove Patrick home, how Patrick had apologized to him, asked him to stay, how Patrick had inched closer to him on the bed.

Did Patrick write those lines after that night?

Pete's lying in bed, morning sunlight streaming in through the blinds as he toes the line between asleep and awake, when he decides fuck it. He sits up and stretches, ignoring the knots in his shoulders, and reaches for his laptop.

He buys a ticket, resolving to stay towards the back of the venue where Patrick won't be likely to see him. Next he buys a plane ticket to Washington D.C. and books a hotel room a block away from the bar he'll be going to. Then he gets up, makes himself a cup of coffee, and goes on with his day the best he can.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's just as crowded as Pete thought it would be. The audience is quite the mix, too: there's people in Fall Out Boy shirts who are obviously excited to see Patrick perform, there's people who look like new or casual fans, and there's people Pete can hear cracking mean jokes about Patrick, including one person Pete's ninety percent sure just said a slur.

Pete takes a sip of his vodka soda and thinks about curb stomping the next person that dares utter a venomous word about his best friend.

Pete's body is on fire as he waits for the show to start. It's not going to be a huge deal if someone recognizes him, but he doesn't want to be noticed; he just wants to see Patrick, feel whatever he's going to feel, and go back to his hotel room to sleep for a full twenty four hours before flying home.

The lights dim. The room quiets down. Pete stands a little taller, trying to peer over the crowd so he can see from his corner of the bar.

"How's everyone doing tonight!" Patrick Stump steps out dressed in a blue suit, blond hair perfectly fluffed, and the bar erupts into cheers. Pete can see Patrick's grin even from his spot in the back. Pete stares at Patrick and feels the same way he did when they met in two thousand one: awestruck and eager for more. At least this time he knows it's another way of his heart and brain telling him he's falling in love.

Pete doesn't take his eyes off the stage once, engrossed in absorbing every word, every note, and every movement Patrick had to offer. He laughs joyfully when Patrick brings out a trumpet to play "Everybody Wants Somebody" and taps the beat on his thigh when Patrick drums along to "The 'I' in Lie."

Pete can't tell if Patrick doesn't care about the group in the front talking shit or if he's just pretending to ignore them; he's proud of Patrick's resilience either way.

Still, Pete wonders if he can get away with gutting the rat bastards in an alley after the show.

There's about half an hour left of the show when Patrick spots him.

He's in the middle of talking and introducing the next song. Pete's watching his face closely, following as Patrick's eyes flick around the room, when their eyes lock. It's entirely by chance, but Pete's heart stops for a minute nevertheless.

Patrick stumbles over his next words. He still hasn't looked away.

Patrick knows Pete's here.

Emotion overcomes Pete, and tears spring to his eyes. He does the only thing he can think to do: he offers Patrick a small smile and raises his glass in salute.

Patrick looks away, jumping right into the next song.


	5. It Gets Better

Pete wakes up to knocking on the door to his hotel room at two in the morning. At first he rolls over and shoves his head under his pillow, but then he hears his name being whispered through the door. So he drags himself out of bed to answer.

Pete opens the door, ready to tell who ever it is to come back in the morning when he's actually awake, but then his eyes adjust to the brightness of the hotel's hallway and he sees who it is.

"Patrick? What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

"You came to my show," Patrick whispers. He's still wearing his button down and pants.

Pete blinks, wiping the sleep out of his eyes and straightening up. "I wanted to see you."

Patrick nods absently. "Can I come in?"

Pete frowns. "Um, sure?" He opens the door further and steps out of the way. The room is still pitch black, but Patrick makes no move to turn on the light. Pete lets the door close and goes to move past Patrick to turn on a lamp.

He's stopped by Patrick's hand on his wrist. "You really came all the way from LA to see me perform?"

Pete nods. "You were fantastic, by the way."

Patrick kisses him. His hands cup Pete's face as he presses closer, and Pete's hands go to Patrick's hips on instinct. Pete's brain shuts off as the initial shock of Patrick's lips against his washes over him, but as soon as he can function again he has to push him away.

"Patrick," he starts quietly, trying not to think about everywhere they're still touching. "I'm sorry, but I have to ask- are you drunk? Or high? Or anything like that?"

Patrick shakes his head. "I just need you right now."

Pete closes his eyes and squeezes Patrick's hips. "Okay. Okay."

God, he's missed Patrick, but is this the best idea?

Well. Fuck it.

Pete kisses him again, and Patrick tangles his hands in Pete's hair and wastes no time pressing every inch of them together. Pete moves one of his hands to Patrick's back and holds him closer; it's not enough, so he walks Patrick backward until he's pinned between Pete and the wall. Patrick starts pulling at Pete's shirt collar and Pete steps back to take it off. Patrick reaches up to touch his chest when Pete notices his hands are shaking.

"Woah woah woah." Pete takes Patrick's hands in his, but steps closer again. "Are you okay?"

Patrick lets out a shaky breath. "Yeah. I'm okay."

"Are you sure? We don't have to..." Pete trails off.

"I'm sure," Patrick says.

Pete studies Patrick's face in the low light. He lets go of Patrick's hands and cradles his face, then leans in. He kisses Patrick slower this time, and Patrick melts against him. Patrick wraps his arms around Pete's shoulders, and Pete presses him back against the wall. Pete's mind spins at how warm and solid Patrick feels against him. He kisses him harder, then ducks his head to trail kisses along Patrick's jaw, hands falling to stroke Patrick's sides.

"Pete." Patrick gasps as Pete nips at a spot beneath his ear. He grips Pete tighter. "Bed? Please?"

Pete whispers in his ear, "Anything you want," and Patrick shivers.

Pete sits down on the edge of his bed and pulls Patrick with him. Patrick climbs into Pete's lap and kisses him, then starts kissing down Pete's neck. When Patrick reaches the necklace of thorns, he starts tracing the ink with his tongue. At the same time Patrick's hands are running all over Pete's back, touching all the skin he can reach. Pete shudders at the feeling.

Pete grabs Patrick's thighs, lifts him, and rolls them over. Patrick shifts backwards until he's laying down with his head on Pete's pillow, then pulls Pete down on top of him with a hand on the back of Pete's neck. Pete kisses him and moves closer, and a thrill shoots through him when Patrick's thighs fall open to accommodate him.

Pete taps the top button of Patrick's shirt. "Can I take this off you?"

Patrick tenses up. Pete strokes his jaw with his thumb but doesn't make any other movements. Finally, Patrick nods. "Yeah, go ahead."

Pete kisses him sweetly. He takes his time unbuttoning Patrick's shirt and slides it off with care. Patrick closes his eyes, and Pete can see the rise and fall of his chest as he tries to keep his breathing steady.

"Patrick," Pete says. Patrick hums, but doesn't open his eyes. "You're so beautiful, sweetheart." Pete lowers his voice and adds, "I've always thought so."

Patrick lets out a shaky breath. "Shut up and kiss me."

Pete does.

Patrick doesn't stop Pete from running his hands up and down his bare sides, and he hums in content when Pete presses their chests together. Patrick starts carding his fingers through Pete's hair again, and Pete lets his hands trail down to Patrick's belt.

"Can I?"

Patrick nods, and Pete takes off his belt and opens his pants. He slides Patrick's pants off, then takes off his own sweatpants when Patrick tugs at his waistband.

"What do you want?" Pete asks quietly, grinding their hips together. Patrick lets out a soft moan.

"I want you to fuck me," Patrick says, pulling Pete closer.

"Shit." Pete takes a second to breathe. "I don't know if I have the stuff for that."

Patrick sits up. "See if there's any lotion in the bathroom, I'll check my wallet for a condom." Pete nods and kisses his cheek before getting off the bed.

He comes back from the bathroom, lotion in hand. Patrick's already lying down, and he smiles as he holds up a condom for Pete to see. Pete kneels between Patrick's legs and kisses his chest, then takes off Patrick's boxers.

"Tell me if I need to slow down," Pete says, slicking up his fingers. He puts one hand on Patrick's thigh and strokes softly as he slides one finger inside him. Patrick's breath hitches. Pete watches his face, and, once Patrick relaxes enough, slides in another finger, moving them at a slow pace.

Patrick rolls his hips and lets out a soft sigh. "Fuck, Pete..."

Pete grins and kisses the inside of Patrick's thigh. He picks up the pace a bit, and Patrick groans.

"Are you ready?" Pete asks quietly. Patrick nods.

Pete slides his fingers out and takes off his boxers. He rolls on the condom, all too aware of Patrick's eyes on him as he slicks himself up. He inches closer to Patrick and lines himself up. He glances at Patrick, taking in his flushed face, and he thinks Patrick almost looks bored.

_Holy fuck,_ Pete thinks. _This is really happening._

Patrick gives him a small smile, and Pete realizes he said that out loud. "Yeah. It really is."

Pete pushes in slowly, watching Patrick's face for any signs of pain. Patrick bites his lip, and his eyes fall shut. He puts one hand on the back of Pete's neck and pulls him down until their foreheads are touching. His other hand grabs Pete's bicep.

Pete exhales shakily when he's all the way in. On impulse, he grabs the hand Patrick has on his bicep and tangles their fingers together, then presses their hands to the bed beside Patrick's head. Patrick closes the gap between their lips.

"Okay," Patrick whispers. He rolls his hips, and Pete groans at the feeling. "You can move."

Pete starts rocking his hips against Patrick's, and somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks this is the most in-sync they've been in since long before the hiatus started. They build up a rhythm easily, Pete thrusting forward at the same time Patrick rolls his hips downward, and when Pete hits the right spot Patrick shouts and squeezes his hand. Pete kisses Patrick's lips once, then begins planting kisses all over his neck and jaw. He can feel Patrick's nails digging into his shoulder blade- it only spurs him on.

"Pete," Patrick says between moans, back arching as Pete thrusts harder. "Pete, I'm close."

Pete starts stroking Patrick's dick with the hand that isn't holding his, and Patrick moans louder. Pete thinks it's the prettiest thing he's ever heard. He can taste the sweat on Patrick's skin, and he can't help but smile against his neck. Pete groans when he hears Patrick is moaning his name. 

"Oh, oh _fuck."_ Patrick shouts Pete's name one last time as he comes, squeezing Pete's hand and raking his nails down the side of his back. Pete fucks him through it, then follows him over the edge with a cry of his own.

There's so much Pete wants to say, but he doesn't think Patrick would hear him and he doesn't want the moment to be over.

Eventually though, he pulls out and gets a washcloth from the bathroom and wipes them both clean. Then he pulls back the covers and lies next to Patrick when he slides under them.

Patrick pillows his head on Pete's chest and wraps his arm around his waist without hesitation. Pete sighs in content and drapes an arm over Patrick's shoulders.

"God, I've missed you," Pete says, basking in the comfort of having Patrick so close.

"I missed you too," Patrick says, pressing his legs against Pete's.

Pete buries a kiss in Patrick's hair. It's not quite as soft now; the bleach must've damaged it some. "So what does this mean? About us. What should we-"

"Pete," Patrick interrupts gently. "Not now." He takes a deep breath. "Please," he adds, softer.

Pete doesn't know what to think. Then he nods. "Okay. Not now."

"Thank you." Patrick turns his head, nuzzling Pete's chest and planting a kiss there.

Pete closes his eyes and breathes slowly. The room is silent, and Pete can feel sleep pulling at him with more ease than usual. Maybe it's the post-sex exhaustion. Maybe it's the feeling of Patrick stroking the skin just above his hip.

"Don't let go of me," Patrick whispers.

Pete opens his eyes and lifts his head. "I won't," he assures Patrick. He tilts Patrick's chin up and kisses him. Patrick fixes him with a long look when the kiss ends, and Pete wishes he could guess what Patrick's thinking.

Finally, Patrick lays his head back down on Pete's chest. He lets out a soft breath, and before Pete knows it he's fast asleep.

Pete falls asleep soon after, one arm holding Patrick tight, one hand buried in platinum blond hair.


	6. Why Am I the One

Patrick's gone when Pete wakes up. It's before eight, and a part of Pete wants to be impressed that Patrick managed to pull himself out of bed and get dressed before bed. Maybe that's another thing Patrick's changed- maybe he's a morning person now.

Pete crawls out of bed, going straight to the bathroom. He turns around in the mirror, and sure enough there's thin scratches on one side of his back. It feels like the only proof that the night before wasn't a hyper-realistic wet dream. That, and the fact that his shirt and pants are still on the floor by the bed. He gets in the shower and scrubs himself clean, ignoring the way his stomach turns at the thought of Patrick's lips against his. He puts on the same clothes he wore yesterday to Patrick's show and starts packing up in hopes that he'll feel better after the hotel's complimentary continental breakfast.

There's a note on the nightstand. Pete sees it as soon as he exits the bathroom, but refuses to acknowledge it until there's nothing else he could possibly do. Five minutes go by before he snatches in up and sits down on the edge of his bed with a huff.

He's almost scared to read it.

_Pete,_

_Before you freak out, let me explain. I came to your hotel room last night because I was so shocked you came to my show and I didn't expect you to reach out to me, especially after over a year. I didn't anticipate things going the way they did. I just wanted to see you and make sure you were okay._

_Thanks for supporting me._

_Patrick_

What the fuck kind of bullshit is that?

What is Pete supposed to _do_ with that?

Pete throws the note away, and slams the door to his hotel room harsher than necessary.

He's not even mad, per se. Just confused and (really, really) sad.

Pete eats breakfast like it's his last meal before execution and hails a cab to the airport. His flight doesn't even start boarding for a few hours but he might as well suffer in airport security instead of wallowing at Navy Pier. He thinks about taking a few Xanax to knock him out while he waits, then considers that his dreams might be filled with angelic singing and pale skin and decides against it.

Sitting in a chair by his gate, surrounded by people who are waiting for the flight that takes off before his to arrive, he doesn't feel any better.

He should've stopped Patrick. Who cares if he wasn't drunk or high? It was obvious that what happened would've been a mistake; Pete knew it was a bad idea and he let it go further anyway. And why? Because he missed Patrick? Because he was pining after him? Who's he to use that as an argument when he wasn't even the one who realized he loves Patrick? And what did it get him?

Nothing, that's what.

He shouldn't have gone to the show. He should've stuck to interviews and videos online and pictures Patrick's other friends have posted. He shouldn't have opened the door, should've assumed it was some drunk on the other side who doesn't know or care who he is or where he was earlier that night. He shouldn't have let Patrick come in. He should've stopped Patrick. He shouldn't have kissed him back or pinned him against the wall. He should've woken up before Patrick and told him to leave so Patrick couldn't leave him that note.

Pete closes his eyes, rocking back and forth in his seat and trying not to cry.

He doesn't call Patrick. He wants to, wants to word-vomit into his phone until he's devoid of stomach pains and guilt, but he has a feeling Patrick wouldn't answer and his voicemail wouldn't have enough room for all of Pete's apologies.

His plane arrives at the gate three anxiety-filled hours later. Pete waits until he's safely buckled into his seat to take those Xanax he'd been thinking about.

Unfortunately, he was right about his dreams.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pete spirals.

Patrick's note acts as the catalyst to a full-blown break down, complete with unhealthy doses of self-loathing, fits of rage, hysteric crying, and plenty of drinking. He feels utterly lost, and the one person he would go to with these things is the one person he's sure would rather jump off a cliff than see him.

Weekends with Bronx ease the pain- they force Pete to pull himself together, and the presence of his son's boundless energy in his all too empty house help him feel less deserted.

That being said, he knows Ashlee gets skeptical every time she picks Bronx up and Pete looks worse than the time before.

It's not just about D.C. All of a sudden, every time he's tried to force himself into Patrick's life comes rushing back to him: asking him to be the lead singer of his band, dragging him through tours, the stage gay, and finally how overbearing he became right before Patrick called for a hiatus.

This whole mess is his fault, isn't it?

Fuck.

Fuck fuck _fuck._

Pete keeps following Patrick's tour. It doesn't make him feel worse, but it doesn't make him feel better, either. He probably didn't hurt Patrick too badly, but then again, looks can be deceiving. Plus, what if this means Patrick just wants to forget about Pete entirely?

Pete doesn't know, and he's terrified.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

He doesn't have to wait too long.

Three weeks go by (that feel like years) when Patrick calls him. It's three in the morning, but it doesn't matter. Pete's awake. He picks up immediately.

"Hello?" He's cradling the phone to his ear. He doesn't even care if Patrick's drunk this time.

_"Pete?"_

"Hi," Pete says, softer.

_"How are you?"_

Pete blinks. "Uh, fine," he lies. "How are you?"

_"Fine."_ Pete can tell he's lying too. It's comforting and painful at the same time. _"I want to see you."_

Pete perks up instantly. "Really?"

_"Yeah. I'm going to be in Atlanta next week for a show. I was hoping we could meet up?"_

Pete scrambles for his laptop. "I'd love that." Shit, was that too eager? "I mean, that sounds good."

_"Good."_

Pete pulls up a travel sight and starts searching for plane tickets. His fingers hover over his touch pad. "Is there-" he swallows- "is there any reason?"

There's a beat of silence. _"Do I need a reason to want to see you?"_ He can almost see Patrick nervously biting his lip.

Pete's hand falls to his lap. How is he supposed to put this delicately? _I don't know if I can handle a repeat of D.C.- I'm falling apart as it is._

Patrick sighs. _"I want to talk to you. Mainly about what happened to us before the hiatus. I've been thinking about it- about_ you _\- a lot recently and I think it's time we talked some of it out."_

Pete's shoulders loosen up. "Oh. Yeah, okay." That doesn't sound too bad.

_"Alright."_ Another pause. _"Pete...how have you been? Really?"_

Pete thinks, then goes with the answer that's the most honest while not heart-wrenching for Pete to voice. "I picked up on the first ring. How do you think I am?"

_"Do you want me to sing to you?"_

Pete freezes. He didn't think that was a privilege he had any more. "Would you?" he asks softly.

Patrick doesn't answer. He just starts.

Pete closes his laptop and sets it on his nightstand, then lays down, phone right by his ear. It's Metallica, a song he knows Patrick learned just for him. He listens, staring wide-eyed at the wall, before grabbing the pillow next to him a curling around it.

Pete starts crying a minute in. He can't help it- he misses Patrick to death, and he's so fucking grateful he called, and he can't believe he's singing to him after everything. He tries to hide it, but he wouldn't be surprised if Patrick can hear him.

If he can, he doesn't say anything.

Patrick doesn't stop singing when Pete stops crying. He must sing an album's worth of songs, but he doesn't stop. Pete lays in his bed and listens, eyes falling shut when he can't hold them open any longer.


	7. All Alone

The rain falling outside the window was the only thing keeping Pete calm. He was seated at a table in the restaurant in his hotel lobby, waiting for Patrick. They're supposed to meet at one; it's twelve fifty five and Pete feels like he's going to jump out of his skin.

What is he doing here? What is there to guarantee that he and Patrick will actually be able to talk?

He's staring out the window when he catches a glimpse of Patrick's reflection. At first he tries to keep people watching- he doesn't want Patrick to know how much he's freaking out- but his efforts don't last very long.

Patrick's wearing a white button up and black pants, jacket folded over his arm as he approaches their table. His hair isn't as light anymore, the natural color is more visible, and it looks fluffier.

Thankfully, Patrick looks just as nervous as he does.

Pete wants to take his hand and reassure him through touch that everything's okay. After all, he needs the same thing.

Patrick smiles nervously and takes his seat across from Pete. Pete manages to smile back.

"Hey, Pete," Patrick says softly.

"Hi." Pete nods. "So...should we talk?"

Fuck. He didn't mean to sound so direct.

Patrick stares at the table. "Um, I was kind of hoping we could eat first? Maybe catch up a little?"

"Yeah, of course." Pete shifts in his seat. "I'm sorry," he adds, quickly and quietly.

Patrick shrugs a shoulder. "'S okay." Pete feels something touch his ankle, and he glances under the table to see Patrick's foot resting next to his. Pete catches Patrick's eye; Patrick's face is carefully blank.

Pete shifts his foot a little closer, and Patrick smiles.

They order lunch, even though Pete has a suspension they're both too anxious to eat. Patrick tells him about touring, and the members of his band and some of the bitchy club managers he's had to deal with. Pete talks about Bronx, and he thinks Patrick's eyes light up a bit when he does. Just like Pete suspected, they only eat about half of their food when it comes. That doesn't stop either one of them from ordering coffee afterwards.

The conversation lulls. Patrick stares out the window, watching rain drops drop down the glass. Pete can't take his eyes off him. There's a line of tension in Patrick's jaw and shoulders that Pete wants to smooth out.

"Hey," Pete says, pulling Patrick out of his trance. "Would you rather talk somewhere more private?"

It's a bit of a risk, but it's worth it to see Patrick sigh in relief. "Yes, please. Are you staying here?" Pete nods.

Patrick insists on paying for lunch, so Pete lets him without too much of a fuss. Their hands brush on the elevator ride up, and Pete is hyper-aware of Patrick standing behind him as he unlocks the door to his hotel room.

Pete sits down on the edge of the queen-sized bed and pats the spot next to him. Patrick lays his jacket on the hotel desk, then sits beside Pete. The bedside lamp is on and the curtains are open. If he listens closely, Pete can hear the rainfall.

Patrick clears his throat. "Pete...how have you been? Really?"

"Not great." He doesn't want to elaborate. "I've been thinking too much," he says simply.

Patrick nods. "Me too." He shifts on the bed until his entire body is turning toward Pete. "I never meant any of the things I said before the hiatus."

Pete looks at him, but doesn't say anything.

"I felt cornered," Patrick continues. "I felt like all the fans hated me, and I blamed myself for it, and then you started acting like a helicopter parent, and I snapped."

"I was worried about you," Pete says. "I could see all that shit weighing on you, but you never talked to me."

Patrick pauses, choosing his words. "It wasn't that I didn't appreciate it, I just didn't know how to handle it. I felt like I'd relied on you for so long...I just needed to be on my own for a while. I had to change, to find my own way."

"You've done a great job." Pete smiles. "I'm proud of you."

Patrick's cheeks flush. "Thank you," he says softly.

"I forgive you."

Patrick's eyes widen. "Seriously? Just like that?"

Pete nods. "I know I said some shit too. We both screwed up big time."

Patrick shakes his head. "I think I screwed up way worse than you." His voice wavers. "I keep thinking about our last fight...god, the things I called you... I swear I didn't mean any of it."

Pete looks down at the comforter, picking at a loose thread. "I just want my best friend back."

Patrick takes his hand. "I want you back, too."

Pete studies his face. "You look tired."

Patrick laughs. "Thanks, Captain Obvious."

Pete swallows. "You know, we've got a perfectly good bed right here. We could take a nap."

Patrick blinks at him, then, slowly, starts taking off his shoes.

Moments later, they're settled under the covers. They're laying on their sides, facing each other, when Patrick says, "Damn it Pete, come here," and opens his arms. Pete grins and shuffles closer. Patrick pulls Pete's head to his chest, and Pete presses his ear to Patrick's heartbeat. Pete wraps his arms around Patrick's waist. Patrick puts his hands on Pete's back, holding him close, and starts humming quietly.

Pete falls asleep in minutes, warm and happy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pete wakes up to the sound of the toilet flushing in the bathroom.

He groans, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Patrick comes out of the bathroom, freezes when he sees Pete's awake.

"Hey," Pete says, voice rough from his nap. He smiles at Patrick.

Patrick walks over and sits on the bed beside him. "Hi. Good nap?"

Pete nods. "How about you?"

"Great," Patrick says quietly. He runs a hand through Pete's hair, and Pete keens at the touch. "I have to go," Patrick whispers.

Pete's drowsiness disappears. "What?" he squeaks.

"I have a show tonight, remember?" But Patrick keeps playing with his hair and there's a note in his voice that sounds like he wishes he were wrong.

Pete doesn't want him to go. It felt like they were fixing things, why does he have to leave now?

Pete does the only thing he can think to do, he leans up and kisses Patrick.

Patrick makes a soft noise in surprise, but kisses back immediately. It's a soft kiss, and Pete has no intention of taking things further, but he puts a hand on the back of Patrick's neck and pulls him closer. Patrick puts a hand on Pete's chest, right over his heartbeat. Pete lies back down and Patrick hovers over him as they kiss.

Pete doesn't know how much time goes by while they're just kissing, and he doesn't really care. Patrick's lips are sweet against his and he doesn't want Patrick to leave.

Patrick breaks the kiss, takes a quick breath, then ducks down for one more. He sits up, and Pete tries to chase him, but the hand on his chest stops him.

"If I don't go now, I don't think I'll be able to leave," Patrick says.

Pete blinks. "Okay," he whispers. "Stay in touch?" he pleads.

Patrick nods. "I'll call you soon, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll count on it." Pete pauses. "Good luck tonight. I know you'll be great," he says with a small smile.

"Thank you." Patrick leans in and presses one last kiss to Pete's lips. "Bye, Pete."

"Bye Patrick."

The hotel room feels way too empty after the door shuts behind Patrick.


	8. All Alright

Rationally, there's no reason for Pete to freak out. They didn't fight- they even made some minor repairs to their friendship. But the bed felt so cold after Patrick left and Pete had felt so _alone_ in that moment that he almost broke his ankle trying to race out of the hotel.

Rationally, there's no reason for Pete to grieve when he gets home. But there's an ocean of pain lingering just under his skin and he's been ignoring it for too long.

Pete asks Ashlee if she can keep Bronx for the next few weeks, and he knows she's concerned but he thinks it shows a lot of maturity that he's admitting he can't take care of a toddler while he's in this state.

He gets home and he grieves.

He wants Patrick by his side again, and not just on a whim when they happen to be in the same town. He wants to see Patrick on a regular basis and talk and laugh and watch movies together like they used to. He decides he doesn't even care if they keep kissing and cuddling and acting like lovers; he just wants _Patrick,_ in any way he can have him.

And the more he misses Patrick, the more he misses his band. 

He misses Joe, his little brother, the guy he's always been ready to fight for if the occasion arises. 

He misses Andy, his oldest friend, the person he's always gone to for advice. 

He misses being surrounded by people he loves and who love him in return. 

He spirals into another depression that keeps him in bed for almost a week. He listens to soft John Mayer songs that he thinks would sound ten times sweeter if Patrick was singing them and stares at his ceiling and prays everything will sting a little less when he wakes up. 

He doesn't know how to handle it. The loneliness feels like drowning. He hurts all over and he wants someone to hold him and make it better and tell him how to fix things. 

Pete does the only thing he can think to do.

He calls Joe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pete hugs Joe tighter than he has in his entire life when he comes to visit. Joe hugs him back just as hard, murmuring about how good it is to see him.

Over the phone, he told Joe every thing he was feeling and Joe bought tickets to LA then and there. Pete had said he wasn't sure if he was going to be able to be a good host; Joe said as long as he wore pants they wouldn't have a problem.

Pete's wearing dirty jeans and a week old hoodie. His hair is greasy. He feels a little self-conscious having another person so close.

Joe squeezes him gently, then pulls back. "I'm glad you called me."

"Really?" Pete asks.

"Yeah. You're reaching out, and that shows growth," Joe says with a small smile. "Come on, let's talk."

Seated at the dining room table, Pete spills every thing that happened between him and Patrick. It's a relief to get it off his chest. Joe listens quietly, only interrupting to ask questions in a soft voice. Pete's breath hitches when he gets to his almost-panic attack in the airport in D.C., and Joe takes his hand across the table and encourages him to go on. Joe doesn't judge the tears sliding down his cheeks, and for that Pete's thankful.

"It's not only Patrick, either," Pete whispers. "I miss you and Andy, too. I miss the band. I want things to go back to the way they were."

Joe sits up a bit. "Here's the thing, Pete... things can't go back to the way they were."

Pete goes rigid. "What?"

"Look, something has to give." Joe lets go of his hand, and Pete misses the reassurance that came with the contact. "Things were broken before the hiatus. Even if we ignore all the sexual tension between you and Patrick, all four of us were overworked and under too much pressure, and you?" Joe points at him. "Your mental health was about to go to shit again. The band getting back together wouldn't do you any good because you could collapse at any second."

Pete stares at him.

"Please don't take what I'm about to say the wrong way, but you've got to make a change. You're a strong guy, Pete, but you're not coping in the right ways and it's fucking up your life."

"What am I supposed to do?" Pete asks. His hands clench, his fingernails digging into his palms.

Joe thinks for a second. "For starters, you should go back to therapy. You did really well when you were in therapy."

Pete slumps into his chair.

"Don't do this for the band," Joe says quietly. "Do it for yourself. You hardly smiled when we were on tour for _Folie,_ and when you did it was so forced. It was like two thousand five all over again." He pauses. "We want you to be happy, Pete. You deserve to be happy. Take care of yourself, and everything else will fall into place."

Pete swallows around the lump in his throat. "Thank you."

Joe watches him for a moment, then pulls him into another hug. Pete sinks into it gladly.

"New first step," Joe says when he pulls away. "Take a fucking shower. Then we can marathon _It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia._ "

Pete gets up to take a fucking shower.


	9. One Foot

Pete takes Joe's advice.

He starts going to therapy once a week instead of once a month, and he keeps better track of taking his meds. He takes Bronx to the park when he has him, and he works on getting the both of them on a real sleep schedule. He starts eating vegetables again, much to Bronx's dismay at dinner time. He cuts down on the booze.

The suspicion drains from Ashlee's eyes when she comes to pick up Bronx. They become friends again.

Getting out of bed is still a bit of a struggle, and he breaks down a few times. His therapist says it's normal, that it'll take time to fully settle into these grown up, healthy habits. Pete wants to speed up the process, wants to be _okay_ right now, but he listens when she tells him to have patience.

In the meantime, he calls Patrick.

Patrick sounds surprised when he picks up the phone, especially when Pete asks him about life and tour. Pete doesn't care. It's a step in the right direction.

He starts calling once everyday, an hour before Patrick's shows start, and he wishes him good luck at the end of every call. He forgot to one day (Bronx desperately needed a bath) and he was overjoyed when Patrick called him first. He made sure to wish Patrick extra luck that night.

He talks to Joe and Andy more, too. Usually at the same time, since they're on tour together, but it doesn't feel weird. He reconnects with both of them, and pretty soon they start calling one another as regularly as he and Patrick.

They might not be official, but it almost feels like he has his band back.

So he does the next logical thing: he starts preparing for the day he _does_ get his band back.

He starts practicing bass again. It takes him a while to relearn everything he'd forgotten, but the day he can play "Grand Theft Autumn" for an attentive Bronx in his living room is one of the best days of his recovery.

He starts writing more, too. He fills an entire notebook in two weeks, and as much as he doesn't want to jinx things, he tells Patrick that he wants to share it with him. Patrick says he'd love to read it, and Pete feels a knot it his chest loosen some more.

There are a few nights when Patrick calls him after his shows. Those nights are unpredictable: sometimes Patrick tells him about how great his show went, how electric the crowd was; sometimes Patrick tells him about a group towards the back yelling nothing but hate. As much as Pete hates hearing about those people, he's glad Patrick tells him when it gets to him. It's better than Patrick bottling it up.

All in all, Pete does pretty good for himself. He's repairing rotten bridges and taking care of himself for once in his life.

Things are good.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pete opens the door with a smile. "Hey buddy!" 

"Daddy!" Bronx cries, leaping into Pete's outstretched arms. Ashlee watches with a small smile, Bronx's backpack slung over her shoulder.

Pete ruffles Bronx's hair and tells him to go inside, then he faces Ashlee. "How are you doing?" he asks politely, taking the backpack when she hands it to him.

"Not bad, but I have to go film on location this weekend, and I am not looking forward to that." Pete winces in sympathy. "How are you?" Ashlee asks, leaning against the door frame.

"About the same," Pete says with a shrug of his shoulder.

Ashlee bites her lip. "Have you talked to Patrick lately?"

Pete frowns. "It's been a couple days. I didn't want to bother him too much right after he got off tour. Why?"

"I've heard a few rumors..." She pauses. "Actually- never mind, forget I said anything." She forces a smile and starts to turn away, but Pete stops her with a hand on her shoulder.

"What have you heard?"

Ashlee hesitates. "It's no secret that his album got mixed reviews."

"Right," Pete says slowly.

"People have been saying it's really gotten to him. Like, he wants to quit music."

Pete's jaw drops. Then he starts shaking his head. "That's impossible."

Ashlee looks apologetic. "That's just what I've heard."

"I know he's gotten some harsh feedback, but I didn't think it was that bad. I mean it's affected him, sure, but not...not like that." Pete drags a hand down his face.

Ashlee puts a hand on his cheek. "Call him soon, okay? You'll worry yourself sick over him if you don't," she teases. "I'm sure everything will be okay." She smiles gently and kisses his cheek.

She tells Bronx goodbye, hugs Pete, and leaves. Pete makes tomato soup and grilled cheese for dinner, and he and Bronx watch _Rango_ while they eat. Pete puts Bronx in the bathtub afterwards. He grabs his laptop from his room and does some research as Bronx plays in with the bubbles in the water.

He googles different variants of Patrick's name and reads a million different articles and blog posts. None of them offer any insight into Patrick's mental state, but Pete knows he's only going to understand that better when he talks to Patrick later.

"Daddy, look!"

Pete looks up from his computer to see Bronx's chin covered in bubbles. "You grew a beard!" he says with an overly- exaggerated shocked look on his face.

Bronx laughs, delighted. Pete closes his laptop and sets it aside. Ashlee was right: he is going to worry himself sick.

He's going to call Patrick after Bronx goes to bed. Now though, he has to wash his son's hair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pete stumbles out of Bronx's room a little after ten, half-asleep; it's hard to stay fully awake when his son's breathing is so calming to listen to.

He plugs in his laptop and gets ready for bed. When he comes back from the bathroom, he sits down on his bed and grabs his phone, prepared to shoot Patrick a quick text and call him in the morning. There's two voicemails and three texts waiting for him.

All from Patrick.

Pete becomes more alert instantly.

_From Patrick: Hey_

_From Patrick: If you're not busy, can we talk?_

_From Patrick: Sorry to bother you, I just really need wanted to hear your voice_

The first voicemail came in before the first text, and the second one before the third text. Both were unbearably soft and ended with Patrick asking for Pete to call him back when he got the chance. At the end of the second one, he added that it was okay if Pete called him back in the morning.

Fuck sleep. He's calling Patrick back now.

Patrick picks up on the first ring.

"Hey," Pete says as casually as he can for someone deeply concerned about his best friend.

_"Hey, Pete."_ Patrick's voice is just as soft as it was in the voicemails, only a little scratchier. _"How are you?"_

Pete leaves the light on but lays down on his bed. "Good. Bronx is here, I just got done putting him to bed."

_"Oh shit, I didn't wake him up did I?"_

"Nope, don't worry. My phone was in the other room."

Patrick sighs. _"Good."_ He clears his throat. _"Sorry for spamming your phone."_

"You don't have to apologize. It's not like I've never done it to you." Pete smiles fondly.

_"I know I know, but still. I'm not usually like this."_

Pete hesitates. "How are _you?"_

_"Not good."_

Pete closes his eyes, trying to ignore the pang of sadness that echoes through his chest.

_"I, uh, I did something kind of stupid."_

"What happened?" Pete asks with a calm tone.

_"Just before you called, I made a blog post. It's basically a rant about how everyone hated_ Folie _, but now that I'm out here doing my own thing they're saying they liked me better fat."_

"Taking a page out of my handbook, huh?" Pete feels heavy with guilt. If he had called earlier...

_"I wrote it a few days before tour ended, but tonight I got a call from the studio already asking for new demos and I snapped. I figured...why share those parts of me with the world if everyone's going to turn me into a pariah?"_

Pete's heart breaks. What Ashlee had heard was true. "Patrick..."

_"I threw my computer into a corner as soon as I hit 'post,' but I know there's a shit storm going down on Twitter."_

They're both silent for a moment.

_"I know things probably aren't as bad as they seem,"_ Patrick whispers. _"But it feels kind of good to throw a tantrum when I'm the only one with something to loose."_

"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself," Pete says softly. "Sometimes your biggest fans are your worst enemies."

_"You could've told me that years ago."_

Pete doesn't know how to respond to that, so he sticks to his original train of thought. "Don't let the bastards get you down, Trick. You pour your heart into every piece of music you make, and that _means_ something. I wouldn't expect them to understand. They can be simple minded fools sometimes."

Patrick chuckles. _"So can we."_

"Touché."

Pete can hear shuffling on the other end of the line. _"Pete...when can I see you again?"_

"I'm free next weekend," Pete says immediately.

Patrick's quiet for a moment. _"Will Bronx still be there?"_

Pete shakes his head, then says, "He'll be with Ashlee. You can come earlier if you want to see him, though."

_"That's okay, I can see him some other time."_ A pause. _"Besides, I was kind of hoping we could be alone."_

"Oh yeah?" Pete grins.

_"I hear your tone of voice- get your mind out of gutter, Wentz,"_ Patrick scolds.

Pete laughs. "I'm kidding, I know what you mean. Our conversations aren't exactly kid-friendly."

Patrick hums in agreement. _"I miss you."_

"I miss you too."

_"I should go to bed. I'm in Chicago."_

"Holy shit man," Pete says, doing the mental math. "Yes you should. You need your beauty sleep."

Patrick giggles, then goes quiet again. _"Hey Pete?"_

"Yeah?"

_"I love you."_

Pete closes his eyes. "I love you too, Patrick."


	10. Stars

Neither of them say anything when Pete opens the door. There's a moment where their eyes meet and they simply stare at one another, frozen on opposite sides of the threshold to Pete's home. Patrick is back lit by the setting sun; he looks ethereal. Then they step forward at the same time, and instinct takes over: Patrick wraps his arms around Pete's middle and buries his face in Pete's shoulder, while Pete wraps his arms around Patrick's waist and buries his nose in Patrick's hair.

He's not sure why this hug feels so much more significant than any other they've shared, but then something inside Pete slots into place, and a dull ache he hadn't realized he'd forgotten disappears entirely.

Patrick lets out a soft sob. Pete holds him tighter, starts petting his hair. "We're going to be okay," Pete whispers. Tears have sprung to his eyes, too.

"I know." Patrick nods slowly, nose brushing Pete's neck. "I know, I'm just...overwhelmed."

"Me too," Pete admits. He swallows down the lump in his throat and lets his eyes fall shut. Patrick cries into Pete's shoulder, and he doesn't even let go to close his front door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I just can't believe it." Patrick shakes his head sadly and takes another sip of his wine. He sags against the back of Pete's couch, and Pete reaches out to play with his hair. "You pour your heart and soul into something, and people get pissed off because it's different than it was the last time. It's like _Folie_ all over again."

The sun finished setting long ago. Patrick's face is cast in shadow where the light from Pete's lamp doesn't reach. The angles of Patrick's face seem sharper and softer at the same time; Pete still thinks he looks beautiful.

"They're idiots," Pete says. "You were fantastic, Patrick. You _are_ fantastic. If more people pulled their heads out of their asses they'd see it."

Patrick smiles at him, then shifts closer and lays his head on Pete's shoulder. "You're too good to me."

"Nah." Pete puts his arm around him and nuzzles his hair. "You deserve the best, which is why it's so crazy you stick around me."

Patrick hits him gently. "Cut that out." He pauses. "How's therapy been?"

"Good. We spent last session talking about how I dealt with stress as a kid. It's weird how stuff can start snowballing without you realizing it."

Patrick laughs a little. "Ain't that the truth."

They fall silent. Pete wants to ask about how Patrick's been, how he's been dealing with everything, but he knows it's better to wait for Patrick to start.

"You know..." Patrick straightens up, looking Pete in the eyes. "I shouldn't have left the way I did, in DC."

Pete blinks. That's not at all where he thought this was going to go.

"I kind of panicked, if I'm honest. I mean, we'd barely talked in at least a year, and then you were at my show and then I couldn't _not_ come see you." Patrick swallows. He glances at his hands, watching them twist together, then looks back up at Pete. "I don't regret it, but I didn't plan for things to go the way they did. You opened the door and told me how much you liked my show, and it was like a dam broke inside me."

Pete thinks. "So, when you were shaking..."

"I was overwhelmed," Patrick explains, nodding. "I knew I wanted you, but I barely gave those kind of feelings towards you the time of day, because I was scared of losing you, and I buried them altogether when you married Ashlee. It all hit me at once that night."

"And the next morning?" Pete prompts.

Patrick takes a deep breath. "I woke up around five, and I didn't want to leave, but I was terrified that everything was going to go to shit once you woke up and we had to talk. So, I got dressed, scribbled something on the hotel notepad, and left. I had a nervous breakdown in the elevator."

"I almost had a breakdown in the airport," Pete says softly. Patrick's eyes widen. "I couldn't help thinking I'd fucked up. That I shouldn't have let anything happen, and that I'd lost you for good." Pete smiles sadly. "You have no idea how relieved I was when you asked me to see you in Atlanta."

Neither of them say anything, then Patrick takes his hands and tangles their fingers together.

"No one's going to fix us," Patrick whispers. "We have to do it ourselves. And I'm not going to lie, that kind of terrifies me."

Pete leans in, rests his forehead against Patrick's. "It scares me too. We've fucked up a lot recently."

"I'm willing to try this, but you and I? We have to communicate. We can't keep hesitating to call and leaving each other in the dark." Patrick closes his eyes. "We can't keep leaving each other. Period."

Pete sighs, letting his eyes fall shut too. "Agreed."

Pete feels more at ease than he has in months.

They start kissing softly, slow and sweet after their charged conversation. Pete shifts closer, and the next thing he knows Patrick is sliding into his lap, burying his hands in Pete's hair. Pete hums in content, putting his hands on Patrick's hips and squeezing gently.

"Bed?" Patrick asks in between kisses.

"Hell yes." Pete takes the opportunity to do something he's thought about doing since DC: he grabs Patrick's thighs and lifts. Patrick squeaks in surprise, but he doesn't hesitate to wrap his legs around Pete's waist as he's carried.

They undress each other quickly, and Pete lays down with Patrick still in his lap. They grind against each other, and Pete can't help the moans that slip out when Patrick leans down to lick and bite at his neck.

One thing leads to another, and soon enough Patrick is lowering himself onto Pete's cock. Pete lays as still as he can to let Patrick adjust, but can't help running his hands up and down Patrick's thighs while he waits.

Patrick rolls his hips, moans, then does it again. Pete watches him for a moment before moving with him.

They fall into perfect sync. Patrick puts his hands on Pete's chest for balance as he moves more, and Pete doesn't stop touching Patrick's legs, sides, and stomach as he thrusts up to make their hips meet. He angles his hips, trying to find the right spot, when Patrick moans louder.

"Fuck, right there," he says breathlessly. Patrick's eyes meet his, full of want, and Pete lets out a moan of his own when he thrusts again.

One of Pete's hands ends up on Patrick's hip, squeezing gently. The other wanders up Patrick's chest and stops when Pete can feel Patrick's heart racing.

Pete thrusts harder, and Patrick's hand flies up to grab his. They intertwine their fingers. Pete can't help but grin up at Patrick. To his utter delight, Patrick smiles right back.

They don't last long after that. Patrick shouts Pete's name, squeezing his hand and digging his fingers into Pete's shoulder. Pete cries out Patrick's name, then pulls him down for a kiss.

"I'm making you breakfast tomorrow morning," Pete says to the ceiling, after Patrick laid down beside him. They're both still catching their breath. "So don't even think about leaving me after you wake up."

Pete didn't mean for his voice to get so soft towards the end. He can feel it when Patrick turns his head to look at him.

"Pete," Patrick whispers. Pete closes his eyes.

Patrick cups his face and kisses him. When he pulls away he doesn't go far; he peppers kisses across Pete's cheeks and forehead.

"I love you," Patrick says against his temple, right before planting a kiss there. He turns Pete's face until their eyes lock. "I love you, and I'm sorry."

Pete swallows hard. "I'm sorry too." He closes the gap between them, winds his arms around Patrick and pulls him as close as he can. "And I love you too."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pete wakes up to an empty bed.

He doesn't move for a few minutes. He stares at his ceiling and breathes deeply, in and out, counting to four on every inhale and counting down from eight on every exhale, thinking about Bronx to calm himself down. Then, he hears the toilet flush and the sink start running in the bathroom, and relief quickly replaces the heartbreak that was cultivating in his chest.

Patrick comes out of the bathroom, hair mussed up from sex and sleep and wearing Pete's boxers and looking like an angel in the soft morning light. He rubs his eyes, sees Pete, and smiles. He walks towards Pete without a word. Pete wraps his arms around him and pulls Patrick close as soon as he climbs into bed. Pete buries his face in Patrick's neck, and Patrick hums in content and starts stroking Pete's hair. Patrick's skin is warm and soft and Pete never wants to stop cuddling with him. Ever.

He almost drifts off to sleep again, but their conversation from the night before comes back to memory, and he still has a few questions.

First things first: "Are you really going to quit music?"

"So you've heard that rumor too, huh?" Patrick doesn't sound fazed.

"Ashlee told me the last time she dropped off Bronx."

Patrick's quiet for a moment. "No, I'm not. I don't think I could ever give up on music. I just don't think I want to do something on my own again- not for a while."

Pete nods.

"I maybe wouldn't mind doing something with Fall Out Boy," Patrick says, a casual hope in his voice that makes Pete grin.

"You know what? I wouldn't mind either."

Patrick laughs softly. There's a brief pause, and then Patrick's stomach growls between them, causing them both to laugh. He sounds a little embarrassed when he says, "You know, I seem to remember someone promising to make me breakfast when I woke up. Is that still a thing?"

Pete kisses his cheek. "Absolutely."

Time to start the new day.


	11. Out on the Town (Bonus Track)

_Epilogue_

It's too cold to be driving with the windows down, but he and Patrick don't care. Patrick's wearing Pete's hoodie underneath one of his jacket, and Pete can't stop thinking about it. Patrick's singing along to the Bowie cd he picked out for the drive; his words keep getting lost in the wind to the clear night sky.

Pete forgot how much he missed the magic of Chicago.

Patrick turns down the volume when they stop at a red light. "You're sure this isn't illegal? We're not trespassing?"

Pete thinks. "I don't _think_ so-"

"Pete!"

"Relax! This place has been closed for years, there's nothing worth protecting. If there are cameras, no one's paying attention to them."

Patrick glares at him, but turns the volume back up. Pete takes it as a win and smiles.

Ten minutes later, Pete's pulling the car around to the back of an abandoned factory. He thinks it used to be a cannery, but he's not entirely sure; the smell of rotting meat could just be dead rats. It's the first thing Patrick comments on when they get out of the car, and Pete shrugs apologetically.

"Do you come here a lot?" Patrick asks, looking at the scorch mark in the middle of the lot where a pile of ashes sits untouched.

Pete opens the trunk of the car. "Not anymore. I did when I was a teenager though."

"You angsty fuck," Patrick says affectionately.

Pete smiles to himself and hauls the lumber out of his car. "Are you going to help me or not?"

They arrange the wood in a teepee over the ashes on the ground, then stuff crumpled up newspapers underneath. Pete douses the whole thing with lighter fluid. He offers Patrick the box of matches.

"Would you like to do the honors?"

Patrick grins at him and takes a match without a word.

It takes a few tries to get the right spot to catch fire, but soon the whole thing is aflame. Patrick stands beside Pete, the light from the fire dancing across his features and making his eyes glow. Pete puts an arm around his shoulders. Patrick responds by hugging him around the waist.

"I love you," Pete whispers.

Patrick smiles at him, making his heart melt. "I love you too."

Pete buries his nose in Patrick's hair and breathes in. "Should we get this going?"

Patrick nods, his hair tickling the tip of Pete's nose. "Yeah. Considering we may or may not be trespassing, I feel like we should get this done and go."

"Patrick, we're _not_ going to get in trouble."

"So you say."

Pete hands Patrick one of the bags out of the trunk and takes one for himself. Then he takes two beers out of a cooler in the backseat.

"To the new Fall Out Boy," Patrick says, holding his bottle towards Pete.

"To the new Fall Out Boy," Pete says with a grin. He clinks his beer against Patrick's.

Pete takes a drink, then sets his beer down beside him. He opens his bag and pulls out the first thing he grabs: a vinyl copy of _Take This to Your Grave._

Pete glances up at Patrick. He's watching Pete quietly, biting his bottom lip. There's a hint of a giddy smile on the corners of his mouth. Patrick meets his eyes and nods.

Pete breaks the vinyl over his knee and tosses it into the fire.

Patrick pulls a trashy tabloid out of his bag, emblazoned with headlines about his weight loss. He rips it in half and tosses it in. He's smiling without reserve now and his eyes are brighter than Pete's seen them in a while.

"Damn, are you secretly a pyromaniac?" Pete asks, laughing a little as he tosses an _Infinity on High_ CD into the flame.

Patrick pauses. Pete takes a close look at his face and realizes he's hiding a smirk.

"Oh my god you are!" Pete yells; there's no judgement in his tone though, only admiration. Patrick blushes and giggles, and Pete laughs harder at how cute his pyromaniac boyfriend is.

They continue tossing things into the fire. It's a mix of tabloids, merchandise, CD's, magazine interviews, DVD's, and vinyls.

Pete catches a glimpse of a _Soul Punk_ vinyl in Patrick's hand, and his heart rate skyrockets. "Wait wait wait!"

Patrick stops and looks at him.

"Are you sure?" Pete asks quietly, holding his hand out between them as if he were talking Patrick off a ledge.

Patrick bites his lip and nods. He reaches out and takes Pete's hand. Pete squeezes it, offering Patrick a smile, and gestures towards the fire. Patrick gives him a determined smile and tosses in the vinyl.

Finally, they're down to a vinyl copy of _Folie à Deux._

"Do you want to throw it?" Pete asks.

Patrick thinks. "Do you?"

They look at each other, then Pete breaks the disk in half like he did _Take This to Your Grave_ and hands Patrick a piece. "On three."

"One."

"Two."

"Three!"

They toss it on the fire, laughter erupting from them both. Pete feels lighter than he has since before the hiatus. Not only does he have Patrick back, he's getting his band back! As in all his best friends!

And Patrick catches his eye, and Pete stops in his tracks, because Patrick's smile is so bright and it's directed right at him and it says _I love you I love you I Love You and I think I will forever._

Pete closes the gap between them with one step and scoops Patrick into his arms.

Patrick giggles and hugs Pete tight around the waist. Pete tries to kiss him but they're both smiling so hard it's barely a real kiss.

"I love you so fucking much," Pete whispers. He would scream it from the top of his lungs, but it feels like the wrong moment. (Maybe when they're in bed later he will.)

"I love you too," Patrick says, digging his fingers into Pete's back. The wind blows around them, and they press closer to each other to stay warm.

"We're gonna make it," Pete whispers. "We're really going to make it."

Patrick grins wider. "Yeah. We really are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this! I'm planning to post new fic soon, so keep an eye out. :) 
> 
> If you want to chat on tumblr, you can find me [here.](https://setting-in-a-honeymoon.tumblr.com/)


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